


Magnetism

by MagdaTheMagpie



Series: Marvel & Magic [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Phil Coulson, F/M, Infiltration, SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 07:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15747282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagdaTheMagpie/pseuds/MagdaTheMagpie
Summary: Phil Coulson does not carry weapons, concealed or otherwise. He does not need to. The weapons come to him, or so Fury says, which is how he was chosen for a delicate mission in London.





	Magnetism

**Author's Note:**

> For the Marvelously Magical Bingo 2018!  
> Square N3: this is my free square! Participant's choice! I REGRET NOTHING!

 

“It's _not_ a superpower, sir. I can assure you I am not a mutant, science project gone wrong, or enhanced in any other way.”

Nick Fury seemed unimpressed by his declaration, so Phil persisted to cover any loopholes.

“And I'm human, born and bred.”

The Director still seemed unconvinced. He dropped several autopsy pictures on the table between them, and Phil winced at some of them.

“You disposed of this spy with a paperclip.”

“In my defense, sir, he _was_ going to kill me.”

“And this Hydra agent was terminated by straw… A standard plastic straw, might I add.”

“Nasty things, straws. Terrible for the environment. I'm glad you finally banned them from the cafeteria.”

Fury muttered something under his breath before continuing.

“And today we have this janitor who was, and I quote, ‘punctured to death by pencil’. Care to explain?”

“He caught me unawares. It's all I had on hand. I was on my way to sharpen it, actually. I did ask you multiple times to allot one pencil sharpener per desk. It's a terrible waste of time otherwise, as you can see.”

“And the janitor?”

“Ah, yes. Not a very nice man. Robby “Liferobber” Bertucci. A hitman who works mostly on the West Coast, if I remember correctly. Seems he made an exception for me, although I can't begin to imagine why.”

Fury's eye narrowed in on the third photo. He was hard to read as a rule, but it seemed he hadn't realized who the janitor really was, and had merely trusted Phil's judgement that he had stopped him for a good reason. Otherwise, he had no doubt he'd be in a holding cell right now, instead of the Director's office. Fury grunted, then swiped the pictures together in one large hand, and stashed the lot back in the top drawer of his desk.

“Let's pretend for a moment you’re a normal human being-”

“I am.”

Fury ignored him.

“I have a mission for you. My last agent didn't fare so well, and was recovered only today without his gear or any memory of his task. Since you don't need any gear and appear so… _harmless_ to the untrained eye, I think you might succeed where he failed.”

 

It was an infiltration mission, without gear, without backup, without a clue of what he was walking into. All he had been told was to close his eyes and keep walking until he found a door, go in and infiltrate whatever was on the other side, then report back as soon as possible.

Watching the busy London street and the direction he was to walk in, Phil wondered if this was a test or a practical joke, but then he saw it too: a woman walked to that place where a bookshop and a music shop met, then disappeared into thin air.

Phil was really doing this. Literally walking into the unknown. A tingle of excitement ran through his whole body, making him feel more alive than ever before. This might actually be fun.

He closed his eyes while a couple other agents made sure he didn't get run over by traffic or jostled by the passers-by, until they inexplicably left without a word.

_Must be close._

He'd been told there was something about this place that repelled most people. Closing his eyes would help, but only sheer determination would get him to his destination, and Phil had that in spades.

He smiled to himself when he bumped into a wooden door. His hand instinctively reached for a handle and he pushed the door, opening his eyes only once he had both his feet firmly set on wooden floorboards.

For a moment, he wondered if he had travelled back in time. The establishment he found himself in was the very image of an old timey British pub. Phil was glad he had been given such nondescript clothes that he didn't look too out of place. He still missed his black suit, but he would have stood out like a sore thumb wearing it in this sort of environment.

“Can I help you?”

The gruff voice belonged to the barman who was eyeing him suspiciously. Phil gathered his wits and smiled his blandest smile at the man, approaching the bar with practiced nonchalance. One tap on the counter was obviously for beer so he ordered that. The other bottles behind him looked entirely too foreign.

“You're from across the pond,” the barman said with a nod as if that explained any doubts he'd had about him.

“Yep,” Phil answered, popping the “p” to add to whatever caricature the barman had in mind.

A beer in an oversized mug slid under his nose, but it didn't look quiet right. It wasn't chilled to start with, and it was too opaque and the froth too thick.

“That'll be two sickles.”

That gave Phil pause. He couldn't possibly be talking about the farming tool. It made no sense. He supposed they could have their own currency though.

“Ah. I s’ppose you haven't had time to change your money at Gringotts yet, eh?”

Phil nodded. _Gringotts?_

“Hey, I'm not judging. Happens to everyone. Let's see, that should be 'bout…” the barman's eyes focused on his mental calculus until he smiled triumphantly. “£2.35, or $2.99 based on this morning’s exchange rate.”

“Impressive,” Phil said and actually meant it.

The barman beamed as he took in Phil's dollars. He had British money in his pockets, but if the barman wanted to believe he had freshly arrived on Shakespeare's turf, he might as well go all the way.

“Tool o’ the trade. We get all sorts here.”

“Don't listen to him,” a woman said as she leaned on the counter next to him. “Tom is a mathematical genius. Shame we don't have much use for it here, and the Goblins don't hire humans if they can help it.”

Phil smiled politely at the new arrival while he was frantically taking notes in his mind. If these people weren't completely delusional, they lived alongside _goblins._

_Goblins!_

Another species, because she'd made the distinction with humans, but which was intelligent and evolved enough to have a trade involving mathematics. At least, these people were human. But so were mutants. Could this be another branch of humans which had evolved alongside them?

“The usual, Tom, if you don't mind,” the woman said to the barman before turning towards him. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all.”

If she was chatty, all the better to gather intel.

“You're not from around here.”

She said it as fact, his accent giving him away again, no doubt.

“That obvious, eh?”

The woman laughed as Tom served her the same weird beer he had, as well as a plate of biscuits.

“Don't take it personally. We all know one another more or less around here. Our community isn't as large or open as most other countries.”

_Oh? Do keep speaking. This is interesting._

“I’m Hermione, by the way. Welcome to England.”

“Phil,” he replied and took her proffered hand to shake. “It's been very welcoming so far.”

“Any place in particular you were planning to visit?”

“No. You could say this was a spur of the moment trip.”

He could because it was. Fury had sprung this infiltration on him just yesterday.

“Well, you should see Hogwarts, I suppose. Everyone seems to like comparing the size of their castles. I've heard Ilvermorny isn't so big, but appears so because it's built so high up in the mountains. I always wondered how you dealt with air rarefaction?”

“Erm…”

Alright. She'd lost him there.

“But maybe you went to Salem?” she asked, sounding contrite.

Phil nodded uncertainly.

“An all-girls school? You must have been quite the lady's man.”

_It's a trap!_

By the time Admiral Ackbar’s warning echoed through his mind, Phil was already on his feet with a fork in hand directed at the woman's throat. No need for lethal force as she wasn't there to kill him. They hadn't killed the previous agent after all.

“I'll just be on my way, then,” Phil said.

Someone shouted behind him and his fork went flying out of his hand. No matter, Phil spun around Hermione, if that was even her real name, and used her as a shield while his fork was replaced by a knife. Alright, a butter knife, but that was more than enough for him.

Once more, a shout that sounded like “expel armus” made his knife fly out of his hand and into another woman's who had been cleaning the tables. He was putting the mutant explanation back on the table. They had similar powers. Invisibility and telekinesis, at the very least. Phil reached for a… spork? He sighed, but held it under her neck, keeping her close with her arm twisted between them so she couldn't try anything without him knowing and her being in some amount of pain.

“Tom! Lock your fucking cutlery away, for Merlin's sake!” the irrate tavern wench shouted, her blonde pigtails bobbing in anger.

“Now, like I said, I'll just be leaving,” Phil resumed, as if he hadn't been so rudely interrupted the first time.

“So soon?” Hermione gritted between her teeth. “And here we'd been getting along so well.”

He had managed to inch towards the exit, keeping a wary distance from the other patrons and staff, keeping his back safe and his eyes alert, when his hostage surprised him by twisting far enough that she had room to elbow him in the gut. Phil clenched his jaw, but didn't let so much as a wince appear on his face.

“Are you quite done?” he muttered and pulled her flush against him once more.

Unfortunately, the distraction allowed Tom to make his spork fly out of his hand, no matter how hard he had been gripping it, and Phil had to dodge when several red fireworks came zooming straight at him. On the bright side, he'd managed to scavenge a stick from Hermione's person and he poked her in the neck with it. At this rate, her peach-perfect skin was going to be all bruised up.

A murmur went through the crowd this time, some outraged, others worried. The only difference was the stick. Scanning each individual, he realized some of them were pointing similar sticks at him, and Phil came to the conclusion he had made a major social faux-pas by borrowing hers. It allowed him to reach the door however, and before anyone could react, he had opened it, thrown his hostage at the nearest person and run like hell. The SHIELD van screeched besides him and barely slowed down for him to jump aboard before taking him far away to safety.

 

“You didn't last as long as I'd hoped,” Fury said.

“But I still have my memories intact,” Phil countered, tapping his temple with his index.

“There is that.”

Phil told him everything he'd seen and everything he'd deduced, before handing him the piece of polished wood these people seemed to favour. He belatedly noticed a pattern of delicate vine leaves carved along the larger end and almost snached it back for a better look, but Fury was already grasping greedily for it and you didn't take Fury's toys away from him. The Director then told him to keep his mouth shut and promoted him.

 

Phil was due to leave the next day with the rest of the group. They weren't exactly meant to operate on foreign soil without a very good reason, and had probably broken a fair number of protocols, international laws and treaties, but what the Queen didn't know couldn't hurt her.

He felt uneasy, however. Something was niggling at the back of his head, something he had overlooked and despite feeling so tired after his adrenalin filled day, he couldn't find sleep. He closed his eyes and listed the various forms he _should have filled_ had this mission not been stamped whatever was above _top secret._ Too-secret-to-be-written-down apparently. He mentally filled in the forms anyway, as he found the whole process soothing and had almost fallen asleep when he felt the slightest shift in the air of his otherwise quiet bedroom. His eyes flew open, but he only had time to throw off his covers before he was set upon, a heavy weight settling over his middle while something hard dug under his chin.

“We meet again,” came a familiar voice.

“Hermione,” Phil acknowledged, impressed despite himself that she had found him and taken him by surprise. “Quite forward of you to venture into enemy territory, and alone at that.”

Not to mention the way she was straddling him. He would bet he could easily throw her off too, if it weren't for the weapon aimed unerringly at his carotid.

“Call it a bit of revenge, if you want.”

Phil arched a brow at her and Hermione scowled back. He could swear she was actually pouting, but it at least confirmed she had indeed come alone, which was completely foolish on her part.

“You made it personal,” she muttered.

Phil didn't see how, unless she was a sore loser. Oh dear God… she was, wasn't she? And somehow, he had wounded her pride.

“What if I let you win this time?”

It didn't really matter now. His mission had been accomplished and he had already transmitted his intel. Losing his memory of the last day, while annoying, wasn't such a heavy price to pay.

“You're not _letting_ me anything,” she seethed. “I have the upper hand here. You. Have. Nothing.”

Phil smiled placidly, which seemed to enrage her even more.

“You're right. You can do with me as you will,” he said, palms held open in surrender.

He knew he shouldn't. It wasn't in his habit to taunt the enemy so blatantly, but there was something about this woman, her wit, their banter…

“You're so infuriating,” she muttered.

“I do get told that quite often,” he agreed.

By most anyone he met, in truth, but rarely so plainly or to his face. She was decidedly a fascinating woman. Phil licked his lips, trying to keep his breathing under control as Hermione shifted her weight above him. But she was smart, and had eyes, and could most certainly feel the effect she was having on him.

It wasn't his fault. He was half naked, in his bed, at night, and with a pretty woman straddling him. It was practically a Pavlovian reflex at this point, or so he'd tell her when she would berate him for his inappropriate behaviour. He'd never been in such a compromising situation before, and SHIELD did not provide a course on "What to do when your opponent is turning you on?". They really should. It was very shortsighted on their part and he'd make sure to nag Fury until he rectified  such a monumental oversight.

Hermione flushed suddenly and Phil winced, expecting the worse. She might even erase all of his memory in retaliation… but instead, he felt her lips on his. After a moment's hesitation, he returned the kiss and groaned when she shifted above him and brushed against his erection.

He was definitely crossing a line, fraternising with the enemy. Fury was going to have his balls for this. But for once, just this once… he couldn't care less. Phil put all thought of Fury out of his mind and began pulling clothes off Hermione. She was wearing far too many layers and dared giggle at his frustration, so he flipped her onto her back and tore the last buttons off. They ricocheted around the room and he smirked at her breathless, mostly naked form beneath him.

It was insanity. He hardly even knew her or what she was, but if he was going to have his mind wiped, he might as well enjoy it first. His only regret then would be not remembering it, and he wouldn't even remember to do that much.

“Stop thinking,” she said as she slid her arms over his back to pull his boxers down.

“Yes Ma'am.”

But she was right and he focused on the task at hand once more: getting rid of her last layer of clothing. He put his tongue to good use when he had, worshipping every part of her body. She was so responsive. He'd bet she had been having as bad a dry spell as he had.

“Phil,” she panted, then froze. “Oh bugger, your name _is_ Phil, right?”

“Yes. Hermione?”

She nodded and smiled, looking both relieved and sheepish.

“Bit weird,” she added.

“Doesn’t have to be,” he shrugged and produced a condom from… somewhere. He actually had no idea where it came from since he didn't go on missions expecting sex.

_Uhm… maybe Fury is on to something with that superpower thing. Magnet-of-small-useful-objects. Way cooler than it sounds._

Phil shrugged and ripped the foil packet open. Hermione took charge of the rest, slowly unrolling it on his too hard, too sensitive erection. He was going to burst if she kept this up.

“Tease,” he breathed out.

“Maybe you should teach me a lesson then.”

That was his kind of dirty talk. Phil didn't need to be told twice. He pulled her towards him, making her squeak in surprise and pushed her legs up, resting them against his torso. Hermione was shaking in anticipation and he stared right into her eyes as he pushed his hips forward, but not for long, it was too… too much. He paused to get his breathing back under control. Hermione made a desperate sound, like a whine, so he shifted his head to kiss her leg and began moving again, inside her warmth, tight, oh God… she was just so perfect and her little moans were driving him on and driving him mad as he pounded into her with more and more abandon, until his thighs burned and his hips bucked more erratically. He was so close. It was his name on her lips, begging, demanding, that sent him over the edge.

His mind was a blank after that. But not because she had erased his memories. It had simply been… a long time. And intense. Fury could have his balls. He didn't regret this one bit, he thought as he disposed of the condom.

And Hermione looked so content next to him, smiling and half asleep, that he had no doubt she had come during his climax-induced blackout. Or he hoped so…

Phil hung his head. He was a terrible lover.

“Stop thinking,” Hermione mumbled as she pulled him closer and snuggled against him.

“Yes Ma'am,” he replied with a smile.

Call him a glutton for punishment, but he could get used to being bossed around during the night as well as the day.

 


End file.
